


Smoke Like a Lady

by Coffee_King



Category: Helluva Boss (Web Series)
Genre: Adultery, Comedy, Drug Use, F/M, Family Bonding, Family Drama, Family Fluff, M/M, Marijuana
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-08
Updated: 2021-03-03
Packaged: 2021-03-14 10:21:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,230
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29294331
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Coffee_King/pseuds/Coffee_King
Summary: Stella finds weed in Octavia's room, and Octavia learns more about what it means to be demonic nobility.  Followed by further adventures in family bonding.
Relationships: Blitzo/Stolas Goetia, Stella Goetia/Stolas Goetia
Comments: 6
Kudos: 67





	1. Chapter 1

“Octavia, darling, it is time for your lessons!”

Stella Goetia raps on her daughter’s door with three ladylike taps.

There is a muffled reply.

“What was that darling?”

Stella enters the room.

“I said to give me a sec! I’m trying to get on my dress.”

Stella is mildly surprised that her daughter has voluntarily chosen to dress herself in the proper manner. Under ordinary circumstances, she would need to hound her daughter out of bed and into a proper dress before dragging her to the study for her lessons. Something about her daughter’s behavior had recently changed. Stella was loathed to admit it, but she suspected that Octavia and Stolas’ trip to Loo-Loo Land was the primary cause. At some point she would need to pry the information of what had transpired there out of the girl. 

Stella takes a moment to glance around her daughter’s room. The sounds of struggle and fabric can be heard coming from the restroom.

Stella is about to offer assistance when she spies a shoebox haphazardly poking out from beneath her daughter’s bed. The brand is some cheap fare that Stella would never allow Octavia to wear. She takes the box and opens it.

A gasp slips from her beak. 

Octavia stumbles out of the restroom with her dress partially undone at the back.

“I almost got it! Mom, I just need you to-”

She freezes when she sees her mom staring sternly at her, box in hand.

“Octavia, what is this?”

“Oh shit…mom, it’s not what it looks like. I’m just holding it for a friend!”

“I knew it. Marijuana! I cannot believe it. Wait till your father hears about this!”

“Wait mom, no! Don’t tell dad. Things have been going well for us lately and I don’t want to-”

“You should have thought of that before bringing this garbage into my house! Stolas! Come see what your daughter has done now!”

Stella’s thunderous voice carries down the hall, quickly bringing the owl prince. He gingerly pokes his head into his daughter’s room.

“Oh dear, Via, is everything alright?”

“Dad, I-”

Stella does not give her a moment.

“Look what I found hiding under our daughter’s bed!”

Stolas steps into the room and Stella shows him the poorly rolled roaches.

“Oh, how dreadful! Octavia, I am so disappointed in you! This must be dealt with at once! Young lady, I will see you and your mother in the parlor in five minutes for a stern chat. This is most unacceptable behavior, but I’m sure we can overcome this together as a family.”

Stolas disappears.

“REGINALD!”

Stella screams. It is more out of force of habit than necessity, as the imp butler is seldom outside of talking distance.

“Here madam.”

“Reginald! Tell Matilda we will take our afternoon tea in the East parlor!”

“Very good madam.”

“And Reginald? Go to my boudoir. In the bottom left drawer of my armoire, there is a sandalwood box. Fetch it for me. That is all.”

“Very good madam.” The butler disappears. 

Stella knows instinctively that Stolas means for them to meet in the “family” parlor in the East-wing. The lady and her daughter transit in shameful silence. Octavia’s mind whirls, trying desperately to think of some defense.

They arrive.

Stella sits in a magenta chaise lounge. Her hands are folded neatly in her lap, her head held high. She does not look at Octavia, nor say anything. 

Octavia sits in a matching armchair. Her dress is still not fully up. The cushions will not swallow her.

Tea arrives. It is placed on the table between them. Stella’s reticence continues as she pours her sugar and cream.

“Mom, if you would just let me-”

“Silence! You are to say nothing until your father arrives. Drink your tea.”

Octavia does not touch her tea. Stella sips silently, eyes closed. 

Reginald arrives. In his arms is a wooden box, roughly the size of a trumpet case. He deposits the box on the tea table.

“Will there be anything else madam?”

“That will be all Reginald. You are dismissed.”

The butler vanishes the same moment that Stolas enters the parlor. He occupies the final chair in the room, opting not to sit next to his wife on the loveseat. In his hands he holds a plastic bag, containing what appears to be the dankest of weed.

Octavia’s eyes bug out.

“Dad, is that… pot?”

“Well of course! Fresh from the garden. What else would it be, spinach?”

Octavia’s mouth falls to the floor. “But… I thought you and mom were mad about-”

For the umpteenth time the teenager is interrupted mid-sentence.

“Honestly, Octavia, I was looking forward to our first daughter-father smoke session. I would finally get to show you the wonders of ganja and share with you my special strains! And here I come to find that you’ve been smoking some cheap street plant grown in Lucifer knows where! Very disappointing young lady!”

Octavia, wide eyed, whirls to face her mother. 

“Mom, did you know about this?”

Stella pops open the sandalwood box.

“Know about what darling?” She says as she draws forth a beautifully crafted, solid crystal bong. She pours water into it from the tea set’s carafe and motions to her husband for the baggy.

Octavia’s pupils have dilated to the size of coins. 

“You’re both stoners?”

Stella stops packing the bowl and looks at her husband and then at Octavia.

“First of all, daughter-mine, a _lady_ is never a _stoner_. She is someone who occasionally partakes of hashish. Second of all, when she does partake of hashish, a _lady_ smokes it properly from a pipe, not in the form of those nasty jazz cigarettes the commoners love so much. Finally, and most importantly, were you not paying attention when we first explained to you your father’s position?”

Stolas chimes in. “Remember sweetheart, I’m the demon prince of astronomy and herbs. And ‘herbs’ naturally includes ‘herb!’”

He hoots happily at his own joke while Stella finishes packing. From her sandalwood box she produces a solid gold lighter, engraved with the initials _samk_ and _geml_ in the old Canaanite way. She strikes the light and presses the flame into the sticky icky.

Bird dad leans towards his daughter.

“One thing you should know is that fresher plant is wetter, so it takes longer to light sometimes. Oh, I can’t wait to show you my special garden!”

“ _Our_ special garden, Stolas.”

“Of course, dear.”

The plant finally catches, and Stella brings the mouthpiece up to her beak. Before taking the hit, she tells Octavia to “watch carefully.” Then Lady Goetia proceeds to take a fat rip off her solid crystal bong.

Octavia feels a part of her soul die.

“This isn’t right… you guys are supposed to discourage me from doing drugs, not show me how!”

Stella is still exhaling so Stolas answers for her.

“Oh, come now Octavia. You have been watching too much human television. We’re demons, of course we do drugs!”

After the last puff of smoke leaves her mouth, Stella adds, “Yes darling, don’t be such a prude.”

Octavia has had enough. She stands and angrily points a taloned finger at her mother.

“Who are you calling a prude!? You’re the one who won’t stop screaming at dad about cheating on you!”

There is a profound silence as Stella blinks slowly at Octavia, as if trying to process a statement that she considers to be unfathomably stupid.

“Octavia, your father is a prince of hell. I expect him to ‘cheat’ on me. The problem is that rather than taking a high-end concubine or having a turgid, sexy affair with another lady, he insists on sullying our good name by publicly cavorting with an imp.” 

She turns to stare red tinged daggers at Stolas, who coughs awkwardly into his hand. Octavia stops to process her mother’s use of the words “turgid” and “sexy,” finding that she has now grown immensely more uncomfortable, something which she would not have previously thought possible.

Stolas finally finds his voice.

“Yes well, I… um… don’t you think you should let Octavia have a hit, darling?”

“Indeed husband. Here Octavia, be careful now, its heavy.” She holds the bong out to her daughter.

Octavia does not take it. Her hands are pulling at her beany, trying to bring the cap down over her face to provide a thin but dark barrier from her parents.

“What even is happening right now?”

Stella has had enough.

“Young lady, if you don’t smoke this bowl right now, you are grounded for a month!”

“Ok, Ok, geeze! Here…”

The teenage owl takes the bong from her mother’s hands and holds it up to her beak. 

“Like this?” She draws a small puff of smoke from the bong, coughing heavily on exhalation.

Stolas does not criticize. He claps his hands. “Well done my owlette! Oh, my daughter’s first bong hit! Now pass it here, it’s daddy’s turn!”

Octavia does so, and slumps back into the armchair, defeated. Stolas smokes and passes the bong to his wife.

“Don’t be so dour darling! Why, didn’t you want us to be doing more family activities?”

“This isn’t exactly what I had in mind.”

Stella sends another puff of smoke up into the air, her husband’s last statement fermenting in her mind. The parlor stinks of weed now.

Octavia sighs.

“But I suppose it will do.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I tried writing with a more minimalist focus on dialogue, which is vastly different from my usual speechless Lovecraftian garrulousness.
> 
> Stella gets a raw deal I think. I have more to write if reaction is positive.
> 
> Have a nice day.


	2. Psychedelic Feudalism

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stolas takes Octavia on a tour of their properties.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have to preface this chapter with some things.
> 
> 1) The bizarre writing style is because this story was very nearly green text. It evolved into more traditional writing but retained certain stylistic elements. I apologize for the weirdness.
> 
> 2) I do have a broader story in my head. Of all the chapters, this one is by far the weakest I think. It focuses largely on lore building which is only tangentially relevant to the relationship between Stella and her family, which will be the ultimate focus. It was where the words flowed and so it is.
> 
> 3) Stolas' lecture on evil is not necessarily my own philosophy. It is how I imagine a demonic father would explain morality to his child in the context of the world they inhabit. I am aware that drug addiction is a serious issue.
> 
> 4) I will try to finish this work, bearing in mind that I am racing Vivziepop and the release of new episodes. I would like to resolve the issue of Stella and her family before Vivzie does so herself or opts to go down the "Stella is actually a heartless bitch" route, which would be immensely disappointing.

The next morning, Octavia is surprised to find both of her parents sitting at the breakfast table. Octavia notes that they sit far apart, Stolas with his face in a newspaper and her mother staring out the window, each nursing a cup of coffee. Still, the fact that they can even be in the same room without fighting is an unusual development. 

“So, are we snorting coke for breakfast?”

Stolas coughs on his coffee while Stella turns calmly away from the window and looks thoughtfully at her daughter.

“Hmm… I wonder if I still even have my old snuff spoons. I haven’t seen them since the eighties.”

Stolas catches his breath and puts a hand to his head. “Ugh, the last time I did cocaine I discovered three new planets and christened a dozen new constellations. At least, I think I did. I had trouble reading my notes the next morning.”

“I told you not to cut it with Adderall.”

“God, you guys are such freaks!”

Stella tuts.

“Mind your manners young lady. Come, sit with us. Shall I have Reginald bring you some breakfast?”

Octavia turns to the ever-present imp butler.

“Just a cup of coffee please.”

“Of course, young mistress. Cream and sugar?”

“Just black. Please.”

Stella observes the interaction closely, looking for breaches in etiquette. More “pleases” than necessary on her daughter’s part, something to address later. For now, other matters.

“Have a seat darling, your father and I wish to talk to you.”

Octavia pulls out a chair and sits with her parents. Stolas folds the paper and places his hands on the table.

“Octavia, your mother and I have been talking. It has become apparent that there are certain aspects of our lifestyle that we haven’t made entirely clear to you. I can recognize where I am at fault in this. Astronomy has always been my passion, and it’s something that I’ve taken immense pleasure in sharing with you. And if I’m not mistaken, you’ve enjoyed it quite a bit as well.”

Octavia returns her father’s small smile, and he reaches across the table to briefly touch her hand. Stella observes silently. The moment is brief before the teenager continues the train of thought.

“But… you haven’t really taught me about… herbs? I mean, I know you and mom like plants ‘cause, you know.”

She waves a hand at the various carnivorous houseplants.

“But last night, you made it sound like it was equally important as astronomy.”

Stolas leans back in his chair. Stella continues to quietly observe, sipping on her coffee. Reginald arrives and wordlessly places a mug and saucer in front of the teenage owl. Stolas proceeds,

“Darling, where do you think most of our money comes from?”

Octavia reflects. It seems like such a basic question, and yet sifting her memory, she finds that she neither knows, nor, more disturbingly, has she ever bothered to ask.

“I don’t know… NASA?” 

Stella produces a high-pitched titter, opposite Stolas’ deeper chuckle. Octavia blushes.

“Goodness no, they can hardly afford to pay themselves at this point, much less funnel money into hell. Ah, how I love the cosmos, but you know, it just doesn’t pay the bills.”

He looks out the window, deep in thought. Octavia tries again.

“Don’t Lucifer and the other hell nobles, like, give you money for doing the Harvest Moon Festival?”

“Hmm? No, they don’t. Granted, there is a certain degree of political clout that comes with being in charge of such ceremonies, but money-wise it doesn’t put a dime in our coffers.”

Octavia crosses her arms with a huff. 

“I don’t know why I even bother trying to answer when it’s clear the whole point of this conversation is for you to tell me.”

Stolas turns to look at his daughter. His eyes gleam with conspiracy.

“How about instead of telling you, we make it a surprise. Why, a father-daughter trip to our… _business_.”

Stella butts in angrily.

“Oh, well of course now she’s going to want to do it! Honestly, Stolas, such a juvenile form of manipulation! Octavia darling, you are a _lady_ , you only need to worry about managing money once it’s **in** your household! Not before it gets there!”

Octavia’s eyes narrow. 

“What are you talking about, mom?”

Stolas cuts his wife off. “Your mother fears that if I show you how it is that I make money, that you might want to… follow suit.”

This trips Stella’s bitch trigger, and she stands to angrily point a finger at her husband.

“Stop it Stolas! Don’t you make me into the villain here! Can you imagine our precious daughter, wearing some of those hideous shoulder pads like that Killjoy character on the evening news! Sitting in some board meeting with a bunch of leering, crusty old perverts!”

Stolas leans back and takes a sip of his coffee. 

“Oh, so the eighties were good for the cocaine, but the shoulder pads went to far?”

“Arghh!” Bird wife throws her cup of coffee at her husband, who deftly dodges it.

Octavia takes a sip of her own drink, pondering her father’s words.

“I knew all this chumminess was too good to last.”

**\---**

Stolas looks away briefly from road to beam at his daughter again.

“I’m so glad that you’ve decided to take more of an interest in the other side of our family business! Why, this will be the start of a grand new adventure for the both of us!”

“Yeah, well, there’s obviously a lot about the whole… being a demon princess thing I don’t know.”

Under her breath, “If last night is an indicator of anything.”

“What was that dear?”

“Nothing dad.”

Aside from the occasional outbursts of enthusiastic praise, Stolas has been largely mum on where exactly they were headed. Octavia is curious but finds that her thoughts are more occupied with the image of her sullen mother, seeing them off from the manor doorway. The matriarch had become oddly silent once Octavia announced that she would like to see the family business, opting to sulk over a replacement cup of coffee while Stolas made a phone call and ordered Reginald to bring the Rolls-Royce around. 

While things with her father had improved drastically, it was clear to Octavia that her relationship with her mother was lagging far behind. Last night’s smoke session had been the first time they’d done anything recreational together since… well, Octavia couldn’t remember.

Her revelry is broken as Stolas turns into a parking lot, sliding into a reserved space. There is a single, plain-looking one-story office building, flanked by a well-groomed forest of trees. Stolas reads his daughter’s mind,

“A grove of cinchona trees! Aren’t they lovely?” 

“I suppose so.” Octavia answers rather indifferently. She is more interested in the additional structures behind the grove, the details of which she can’t make out. 

As they step out of the vehicle and onto the curb, they are greeted by an older imp with deeply curled horns and a long white beard. He bows courteously and speaks.

“Prince Stolas! So wonderful to have you visit. I have a cart waiting and the staff have been notified to go about their business as per your request.” 

“How wonderful! Thank you, Timothy, we shan’t get in your way. Have you met my daughter, Octavia?”

“I have not had the pleasure, my lord. Greetings your highness, I am Timothy, on-site manager for this portion of your father’s estate.”

Octavia, hands in sweatshirt, bobs her head at him.

“’Sup.”

Stolas wags a finger at her.

“Ah ah ah, Via, this is official business. Like your mother taught you.”

“Ugh. Fine.”

Owl teen removes her hands from her pockets, and, grasping the edges of her skirt, performs a delicate curtsy with her long legs.

“Princess Octavia of House Goetia, at your service Mr. Timothy.”

Octavia speaks with a saccharine tone, noting that her mother would probably not, in fact, approve of a formal introduction to an imp. 

“Wonderful. Now Timothy, we should like to be on our way. You had a cart, you say?”

**\---**

Octavia thought her dad a safe, if not outright slow driver. But presently she was terrified for her life. First of all, the golf cart they were in was much too small for their owl demon bodies. Both father and daughter sat with their legs comically bent, looking like a pair of grasshoppers in a wheeled matchbox. The main problem, however, was the way her sire was taking the curves. Presently, the cart was tilted at about a forty-five-degree angle, and owl daughter was holding on for dear life.

“Dad, slow down!”

Stolas smiles broadly, a manic look in his eyes. 

“The speed is an illusion dear! Brought on by the fact that we are in a smaller vehicle with no windows!”

Stolas swerves around another corner, narrowly missing an imp in a white lab coat carrying a potted plant. 

“Dad!”

The cart came to a screeching stop.

“We’re here!”

“Oh, thank Christ.”

“Not in front of me you don’t. Let’s go inside, shall we?”

The two demons bump and stumble their way out of the cramped space of the cart, stretching their long legs with relish after their short time in the wheeled conveyance. The greenhouse they stand in front of does not look any different from the others in the labyrinth they had just been zipping around in. It is designated by the number “235”, sublabel “Multiple Species, Temperate.”

Stolas opens the door for his daughter, and they step into a warm, slightly humid environment. He begins his lecture.

“This building houses a collection of the plants we keep in the more temperate climates of hell. Other plants require more extreme conditions and are kept in their own biospheres on site. In fact, this entire facility is our primary R&D station, while the other portions of our estate are the primary production facilities.”

Octavia looks around, observing the rows of various plants held in the building, as well as the rather complex irrigation system running along the ceiling. Periodically a different plant will receive a spritz of water, while a pair of imp technicians move down the rows, observing carefully and scratching information down on a notepad.

“As you know, ‘herbs’ means ‘plants.’ And it is these plants that are our primary source of income.”

Octavia spots a pot of what she recognizes as tobacco.

“None of this stuff looks edible. It’s not food, is it?”

“No no, we are not farmers of food crops. Furthermore, we do not grow cotton, or the varieties of hemp used to make clothes. Those are the domains of other demons. We can discuss who does what later. For now, let me explain what it is specifically that I, er, _we_ , specialize in.

“Our products can ultimately be divided into three categories. The first one is ‘herbs used for magic.’ This is the oldest of our practices, going back to the days when individual warlocks would personally summon me to instruct them on such matters. Indeed, once upon a time this was the most valuable of our sectors. However, there simply aren’t all that many magic practitioners outside of hell anymore, and those within hell are the primary consumers of our products. 

The other two sectors are newer and grew in response to changes on Earth and subsequently in hell. As the general population boomed along with the advent of industrial mass production, it became necessary to differentiate between herbs used for medicinal, recreational, and magical purposes. The former two are what gave birth to the new sectors, pharmaceuticals and recreational drugs.” 

“So we’re big pharma and drug lords?” Octavia asks.

“Hmm… if you want to consider them different things at all, then yes, we are.” Her father replies.

“Wow. So like, we’re pretty evil then.” 

“Does that trouble you, my owlette?” 

“A little, yeah.” 

Stolas sighs wistfully, reaching out to cup the bulb of some exotic flower.

“Well, think of it like this. Although we have a near monopoly on most plant-based pharmaceuticals manufactured in hell, the medicines made from those plants are ultimately used to improve the quality of life for demons throughout six of the seven layers. We won’t worry about how it works in the Pride layer for now… Lucifer has some unusual rules regarding healthcare for sinners.

As for the recreational side of things, well, that’s arguably even more important. For there to be free will there has to be temptation. A choice between right and wrong, as well as the oft overlooked moral grey area.

By offering the choices provided by drugs to mortals and hellborn alike, we allow for there to be advocates of temperance, recreational users, full blown addicts, and everything in between. The paths that people choose are what allow them to have individual character, to make their experience in the universe a unique one, and ultimately to decide whether they go to heaven or hell. And that’s not even getting into the whole ‘psychedelic’ aspect of it.” Stolas turns to smile warmly at his daughter.

Octavia is still uncertain, however.

“But what about the people who don’t really have a huge choice in the matter? Like, the humans who are born into poverty or have the genes that make them more likely to get addicted to stuff?” 

Stolas pauses, humming quietly to himself as he examines another plant.

“I can see why that would make things less grey, but you must remember that we are all of us confronted with difficult challenges at some point in our lives. Although those things might heavily predisposition a human to fall into a life of sin, it is still ultimately within their power to choose to do so or not. That is what it means to have free will. Think about how wonderful it is when an underdog is confronted with a seemingly impossible obstacle, only to overcome it and triumph. Perhaps the inspiration that individuals like that provide to others for their own lives can be said to offset the net negative of those who are consumed by their addictions. I suppose only the Unnamable knows how things truly stack up.”

“Woah.”

Stolas holds out his arms.

“So, what do you think!?”

“It’s a lot to take in, I have a lot of questions.”

“Of course! Why don’t you ask while we look around the facility some more?”

Octavia’s stomach churns at the thought of more driving in the cart with her father.

**\---**

The questions continued on the drive back.

Did they sell drugs to humans on earth? 

No, Earth and Hell were required to have separate supply chains. But Stolas was allowed to introduce new varieties of drug to his human clients, and often did so.

Did they own the hospitals in hell? 

No, the hospitals were owned by other demons. Stolas merely provided them with the ingredients used to make the medicines. 

When was the last time Stolas was ritually summoned to earth?

1930\. He had helped discover Pluto. Then he got super drunk with Tombaugh and Slipher.

When would Octavia get a chance to drive the Rolls-Royce?

Never.

At length, they arrived back at the manner. Stella was waiting for them on the front steps, as though she had never gone inside when they had initially departed. The thought made Octavia feel sad.

When they stepped out of the Rolls-Royce and Stolas had passed the keys along to Reginald, the lady of the manor spoke.

“How are the fields, husband?”

“Fine darling, green and profitable, as always.” Stolas replied.

“Splendid. Octavia, how was your trip to our holdings? Did you learn anything?”

Octavia pondered for a moment.

“It was… quite enlightening actually. And kind of interesting, I suppose.” 

“I see. How nice. Well, I have had the chef prepare the roast woodchuck that you enjoy so much. Come, let us move to the dining room before it gets cold. We can continue talking there.”

Owl family goes inside.


End file.
